


Oh detective, my detective

by Chifuyu



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Kitchen (2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blackmail, Crimes & Criminals, Don't copy to another site, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gabriel is a little shit and Flip is tired, Implied Antisemitism, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poor Ron can't catch a break, Rimming, Slurs, involuntary eavesdropping, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 21:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chifuyu/pseuds/Chifuyu
Summary: Flip can't remember the last time he wanted to scream 'Fuck undercover!', pull out his gun, and bring the entire house down. Actually, that isn’t true. He remembers the last time he wanted to do that in vivid detail, back when he was locked in the basement of some Nazi redneck demanding to see his dick to make sure he wasn't a fucking  Jew. His current situation is marginally better though. This time no one’s asking him to drop his pants, but that doesn't mean he's safe from a bullet to the head should he fail to blend in with the assembled crowd.Mafia weddings are not much different from an outing with the Klan and, as Flip has come to realize over the last few hours, just as boring.





	Oh detective, my detective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storytellingape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/gifts), [jeusus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeusus/gifts).



> A warning at the beginning: At one point in this story (quite early on) a character uses an antisemitic slur. So please be aware of that if you decide to read it. Thank you.

Flip can't remember the last time he wanted to scream  _ Fuck undercover! _ , pull out his gun, and bring the entire house down.

Actually, that isn’t true. He remembers the last time he wanted to do that in vivid detail, back when he was locked in the basement of some Nazi redneck demanding to see his dick to make sure he wasn't a stinking kike. His current situation is marginally better though. This time no one’s asking him to drop his pants, but that doesn't mean he's safe from a bullet to the head should he fail to blend in with the assembled crowd. 

Mafia weddings are not much different from an outing with the Klan and, as Flip has come to realize over the last few hours, just as boring. He makes his way through the kitschy venue, barely avoiding colliding with not one but two waiters too preoccupied handing out flutes of sparkling champagne to the more distinguished guests.

Nobody is paying him any mind. Which is both a good thing and a bad thing. Most people look at him once and then forget about him immediately, a rare thing, given his height and overall physique, but here he's just more hired muscle for the guest of honor, dressed in an ill-fitting suit expertly hiding the mic taped to his undershirt.

The downside of playing the tight-lipped bodyguard of Cornelius Fitzpatrick—rising star of New York City’s political scene and secret but generous supporter of the Irish mafia—is that gathering intel is decidedly difficult when nobody acknowledges your existence.

So one might forgive Flip for indulging in fantasies of unrestrained vigilante violence. It's not as if he would act on them. He has more self-control than that. 

It's no coincidence that he's the one attending this wedding undercover and not one of his colleagues from Intelligence. He's good at this kind of police work, with his level-headedness and calm temper, though he could have done without the chief trying to sell him this gig. Apparently his 'rural charm' is enough to deflect suspicion, which only means that people tend to believe he’s dumb, all because he hails from a small speck of a town 70 miles from Colorado Springs. 

Flip sighs, scratching over his chest, as if to satisfy a persistent itch, to make sure the mic is still in place. He heads over to the buffet table.

He's halfway through his fries and lobster, the latter of which he’s never had before and has already decided he doesn't particularly like, when he feels it. It’s like someone is plucking the fine hairs on the back of his neck with tweezers, except they’re doing it excruciatingly slowly. He's being watched. He knows he’s being watched.

Furtively, Flip scans the crowd while endeavouring to maintain a mostly blank expression with a mouthful of lobster. He doesn’t see anyone acting outright suspiciously—these people aren’t exactly as pure as driven snow—so he turns his attention back to the task at hand, namely perusing the seafood section of the buffet table, but carefully avoiding any kind of shellfish.

A minute later, there’s a tap on his hip that has him fighting every instinct to pull his interloper down in a half-nelson. Instead he turns around as calmly as possible and is surprised to see a face he is almost certain he has never seen before. His first response is to blink, then blink again when the stranger crowds into his personal space. The guy is dressed in bell-bottoms and a paisley shirt. His pants look far too tight to be comfortable. 

“Hey, stranger,” the man leers.

Not to fall victim to cheap clichés, but with his bright red hair, the green eyes and the overly distinct broque, Flip thinks it's safe to assume that this fella belongs to the Irish mafia.

Flip tenses up, every muscle in his body pulled taut. Has he given himself away, after all? Does this man know he's police? Memories of the Klan's celebratory feast spring to the forefront of his mind, of Walker recognising him and telling Kendrickson, the erratic bastard. He'd rather not make that particular disaster a repeat performance.

He frantically scours his memory, tries to put a name to the stranger’s pale face, but comes up empty. He doesn't know him. Has certainly never arrested him and his picture or name wasn’t included in the files he read in preparation for this operation.

So why is this man chatting him up, looking at him with a Cheshire cat smile that almost splits his face in half?

“Do me a favour, will you?” the guy whispers conspiratorially, smirk still in place. “Put your hands on my hips and come a little closer?”

Even Flip, seasoned detective that he is, doesn't possess the amount of self-control needed to refrain from any facial derailments after such an outlandish demand.

“What?” he coughs, eyebrows shooting up so high he can very nearly feel them touch his hairline.

“Don't act coy now, big boy,” the guy, who still hasn't introduced himself, chides. “It's cute, but I don't have time for that now. You see that dickhead lurking by the floral arch?” He jerks his head in the general direction behind him and Flip can't help but go along with it. It doesn't take him very long to spot the man the redhead is probably talking about. A broody, scowling man almost as tall as Flip, with small, piggish eyes that are firmly fixed on the man currently snuggling into his chest.

“I see him,” Flip confirms, though he still has no idea what that has to do with anything of this. “Can you let go of me now, I'm trying to do my job here."

Both his pretend job of protecting Fitzpatrick and his actual job, which is gathering intel for the New York City police department and which the man hanging from his arms is making decidedly difficult right now. 

The man huffs and pulls his mouth into a pout that instantly makes him look five years younger than he must be. What kind of mobster is this guy?

“Listen, beefcake--” _ Beefcake? _ “--you're the only one taller and broader than that fucking neanderthal over there who wouldn't leave me the fuck alone, no matter how often I tell him to get lost. So we're going to do it in a way that is comprehensible for him. It's a shame and I hate that I have to do it like this, but I'm out of options."

Flip has no idea what he's even talking about.

“What--“ he starts but is promptly interrupted.

“I want him to think we're fucking,” redhead flat-out tells him, tone edging on impatience.

Flip chokes a little on his own spit.

He's pretty sure that by now he has lost all control over his facial expressions and is looking like a deer caught in the headlights of his beloved Chevelle.

Redhead sighs, a long, suffering sound, as if he's disappointed in Flip for not immediately going along with his suggestion.

He leans closer still—Flip is too shell-shocked to prevent it—and rests his chin on his shoulder.

“You're a cop, aren't you?” he whispers, too low for anybody but Flip to hear.

Alarm bells go off inside Flip's head and it takes every ounce of self-control for him not to betray himself and stare at the other with open-mouthed astonishment. He goes rigid nonetheless, every instinct he has screaming at him to get out of here before it's too late.

“Listen,” the man says, voice soft. He pats Flip on the arm, as if he’s trying to calm a frightened animal. “I don't care what you're doing here, or why the police thinks it's a good idea to infiltrate a mafia wedding, but I  _ will  _ announce to the whole room that you're an undercover cop if you don't help me to get rid of this creep.”

His voice is still soft, but Flip isn't fooled. This man means business, which, in return, means that Flip is left with no choice but to go along with all this, at least for the moment. He forces himself to relax, to adopt a more casual posture and put an arm around the man's narrow waist.

“Your name?” he grumbles close to the other's ear, creating an illusion of intimacy he doesn't feel.

“Gabriel,” the man all but purrs, voice deepening with satisfaction. “But my friends call me Gabe.”

Flip huffs. “Gabriel it is then.”

“Cold, Mr. Detective,” the redhead croons, fluttering his lashes at Flip. They're pale, almost translucent, and unnaturally long.

"Don't call me that," Flip hisses at him and tightens his hold on Gabriel's hip in warning.

“Well, you never introduced yourself.” Gabriel shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the fingers digging into his side.

“David Johnson,” Flip grumbles as he lets his gaze roam to make sure nobody is overhearing, or worse, watching them. Contrary to all of Flip's expectations, nobody but the man Gabriel is trying to discourage with his antics is paying them any mind. Gabriel must be somebody of importance, somebody not to cross, if everybody in this room is willing to overlook his indiscretions. If he is, then why has Flip never heard of him?

Gabriel flicks a finger against Flip's forehead and he starts, blinking frantically until Gabriel's face comes back into focus.

“Bullshit,” Gabriel accuses him. “I didn’t ask for your undercover identity. I asked you your name.”

He has the good grace to keep his voice down, but that's only a small comfort. Flip is in a bit of a bind, to put it lightly. The mic taped to his chest feels impossibly heavy all of the sudden and when he swallows, he can feel the small piece of duct tape pull at his skin. He can't jeopardize this mission. But neither can he just tell this man, possibly a high-ranking member of the Irish mafia, his actual name. He has to make a decision.

“Philip,” he says at last, after the tense silence seems to have dragged on for forever.

“Lover of horses, huh?” Gabriel deducts, but doesn't press for more. “A classic. I like it.”

Flip doesn't reply. He's too busy contemplating his life choices and whether or not telling a member of the Irish mafia your real name is worse than telling a chapter president of the KKK. Ron will never let him live this down. He sighs.

“How long do we have to keep this up?” he asks, when Gabriel makes no move to disentangle himself from Flip.

“Is he still there?” Gabriel asks, indicating the persistent guy with a nod of his head.

It's only with great effort that Flip resists the urge to roll his eyes at him and, instead, checks the crowd for the man in question.

“Still there,” he confirms after spotting him at the buffet, a glass of champagne in hand that he's gripping so tightly his veins stand out as white lines. “And he looks angry.”

Gabriel bristles, his breath ghosting along Flip's ear and making the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand up.

“Too fucking dense for his own good. Can't wait to put a bullet in his head. He's lucky this is a wedding and I don't want to ruin the bride's big day.”

Flip raises a brow at him.

“I probably shouldn't have told you that, huh?” Gabriel muses when he notices Flip's darkening expression. "What with you being what you are."

He's a cocky little shit, Flip has to give him that.

“And what are you?” he asks. If he's being forced to play the part of  this man's...paramour, then the least he can do is try and get as much out of the situation as possible.

“Philip, please, don't tell me that's the best you can do. Way too obvious,” Gabriel laments, clicking his tongue.

Flip refuses to be hurt by the comment, but neither can he bring himself to let it slide.

“You're not part of the Irish mafia,” he says, refusing to look Gabriel in the eye while he speaks. “But you're in high standing with them. Otherwise you wouldn't have received an invitation to this wedding. The fact that you're not known to the police tells me that you either prefer to work from the shadows or that you have only recently relocated to the US. You have a reputation. What for though, I can’t say.”

Gabriel's pale eyes turn a darker shade of green and the perpetual smile on his face deepens into one of genuine appreciation.

"So you're not all brawn and no brains," he says, sounding pleased.

“Complimenting me with insults isn't going to make me warm up to you,” Flip replies as he pulls Gabriel's hands off his chest.

The man is having none of it. “What are you doing?” Gabriel complains, more irritated than confused.

“I don't care what you think, but I won't be drawing unnecessary attention to myself by getting handsy with another man in full view of the entire wedding party.”

Flip’s objections do little to dissuade Gabriel and for a few moments they're both struggling, each of them trying to gain the upper hand. It ends with Flip grabbing Gabriel by his wrists and holding them to his sides. Whatever his occupation is, it can't be particularly physical. Flip is stronger by a margin.

“I told you nobody here cares. They're all too drunk to,” Gabriel moans, trying and failing to wriggle out of Flip's hold.

“That usually doesn’t hinder them in my experience.”

Instantly, Gabriel ceases his resisting and peers up at Flip with a sympathetic glimmer in his eyes.

“So you're like that.”

Flip keeps an entirely straight face. He's not going to discuss his sexuality with a criminal. Actually, he's not in the habit of discussing his sexuality with anybody. That's something he keeps between himself and the men he meets in the backrooms of seedy clubs, in dark alleys and nondescript motels.

“None of your business,” Flip tells the man without meeting his eyes.

To his eternal surprise, Gabriel doesn't pry further.

“Tell you what,” he says instead, overly cheerful pitch back in full force. “Take me upstairs so that this dickhead can see it, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Flip stares at him. Gabriel wriggles his eyebrows. Both the bridal suite and the guest rooms are located upstairs. The implications are clear, and Flip feels his cheeks redden despite his best efforts to not let his embarrassment show.

“Don't worry, I won't lay a hand on you,” Gabriel says flippantly when Flip fails to reply.

“Because the word of a criminal means so much,” Flip grumbles.

But what other choice does he have than to go along with it? The last thing he needs is Gabriel setting New York's entire criminal underworld on him. The best course of action might very well be to go along with Gabriel, find an unoccupied suite and knock the smug bastard out cold before returning to the festivities as if nothing happened.

“Fine,” he says, after some contemplation. “After you.”

He relinquishes his hold on Gabriel, though not without squeezing his delicate wrists one last time. Petty perhaps, but oh so satisfying.   
  
Gabriel whirls around, movements lanky and strangely elegant at the same time. He isn't drunk, Flip is sure of it. There were no traces of alcohol on his breath when he leaned in close to whisper into Flip's ear. Nonetheless, there’s a flourish to his steps often associated with the inebriated.   
  
Distracted by the sway of Gabriel's hips, he only notices the fingers intertwining with his when pulling away would garner too much unwanted attention.   
  
“What are you doing?” Flip hisses under his breath, staring at their conjoined hands.   
  
Gabriel is tall, almost as tall as Flip himself, which is a rare thing, but he's built more delicately. His fine-boned hand almost disappears in Flip's larger paw, but his grip is firm and he drags Flip along with unrelenting confidence.   
  
“You're too slow,” he tells him, throwing an amused glance over his shoulder before turning again to focus on the way ahead.   
  
There's no point in arguing and so Flip contents himself with a low grunt. He figures it's enough to make his displeasure known.   
  
As they hurry past nondescript doors and labyrinthian corridors, Flip cannot help but think that Gabriel must be familiar with the building and its layout. He doesn't slow his pace to contemplate their way, doesn't hesitate, and soon they find themselves in front of the massive double doors marking the bridal suite.   
  
“You can't be serious,” Flip groans, alarmed when Gabriel pulls a long hairpin out of the back of his pants and bends over to pick the lock to the suite with a nonchalance that must be born from experience. The doors spring open with a gentle click and Gabriel practically skips inside, while Flip is left behind, all dressed up and with nowhere to go.   
  
“Get in here already,” Gabriel's voice comes floating through the open doors.   
  
Flip sighs, not for the first time today, regretting every single choice he has ever made in his life that has led him to this very moment, and heads inside.   
  
“Close the door, please?” Gabriel asks, calling over from where he's already perched up on the king-size bed.   
  
In the few seconds Flip needs to collect himself and question all of his life choices, Gabriel has already managed to take his shoes off and uncork the bottle of champagne that had been sitting in a cooler on the bedside table. Flip tries not to let it irritate him too much. He knows next to nothing about the bride and groom, except that they too have ties the New York underworld and therefore probably deserve to have their wedding night ruined by a cheeky Irishman. And despite all this, Flip shudders at the thought of disrespecting the newlyweds so.   
  
Not that Gabriel seems to care. 

With one hand, he's scooping up the rose petals scattered on the bed linens; with the other he holds a flute of champagne, taking generous sips at irregular intervals. Throwing the petals in the air, he laughs, pleased when they rain down on him and stick to his hair and get tangled up in the creases of his atrocious shirt. The first two buttons are undone, revealing a sliver of pale skin dotted with freckles and a thin gold chain resting across delicate collarbones.

Flip closes the door, as requested, but makes no move to join Gabriel on the bed or get any closer to him.

“I've done what you wanted me to do. I'll leave now.”

Gabriel merely raises a brow. “Your stamina must be real shite,” he muses, picking flower petals off his shirt but not out of his hair.

“What?!”

Gabriel shrugs. “If you leave now, not even five minutes after we have snuck off from the party, everyone will think you lasted for about three thrusts before shooting your load, like a pubescent teenager getting his dick wet for the first time.”

Flip isn't some blushing wallflower, how could he be in his line of work, but something about Gabriel's words, the casualness of it all, uttered in that rolling accent, has Flip's blood boiling.

“So?” he manages to spit out. “Why should I care what anybody in here thinks of me?”

Gabriel doesn't answer; watches him over the rim of his crystal glass instead.

“You should use this opportunity I'm giving you here,” he purrs.

“Opportunity?” Flip echoes, dumbfounded.

He's certainly not going to take his shoes off and bounce on the mattress like Gabriel is doing, nor will he share a glass of champagne with him while on a mission.

Though he gets a feeling that this is not at all what the other had in mind, when Gabriel throws him a calculating look.

“You're here for intel, aren’t you?” he asks.

There's no point in denying it—Gabriel already knows he's working undercover—and so Flip nods.

“Well then, start gathering. I'm an open book,” Gabe tells him, flourishing his glass in a wide arch and getting champagne everywhere.

“You?” Flip mutters incredulously. “What do you know about Fitzpatrick's connections to the Irish mafia?”

Sitting up and putting the flute of champagne aside, Gabriel adopts a slightly more professional posture, crossing his legs and straightening his back.Though he doesn't think to remove the flower petals from his hair or button up his shirt.

“I know that most of Fitzpatrick’s donations for his campaign came from prominent members of the mob.”

Flip's curiosity is piqued. Intelligence has already suspected as much, especially after Fitzpatrick’s campaign had unexpectedly doubled their budget. Up until now, though, they had no tangible proof that the sudden influx of money was due to connections to the mob.

“Such as?” he prods further, not quite convinced that Gabriel is telling the truth, but willing to play his little game, at least for a while.

Gabriel throws him a brilliant smile. “Nice try, but if you want to know more, it’s going to cost you.”

To say Flip is surprised would be a lie. In the many years he's worked at Intelligence, he has learned one fundamental lesson: nothing in this world is free.

“And what about helping you get rid of that guy downstairs?” he tries to argue nonetheless.

Gabriel shrugs. “I didn't snitch on you and tell everybody you're a cop, did I?”

“So far,” Flip grumbles.

“And it'll stay that way if you play nice,” Gabriel tells him, fluttering his pale lashes.

“What do you want then?” Flip presses out between clenched teeth.

There's precious little he has to offer a member of the Irish mob. He's not going to sell any information relevant to the ongoing investigations. He doesn't have anything of value on him, no money he could buy Gabriel's cooperation with, not even a wristwatch to give him. All he has are the clothes on his back and the mic taped to his chest. Which isn’t something he intends to barter with.

Gabriel's already cocky smile widens into a shit-eating grin.

“No need to worry, detective. I’m not going to ask for the impossible. All I want is a kiss,” he purrs.

For a few, precious moments, Flip is certain he must have misheard.

“A kiss?” he echoes, determined to brush it off as a joke in bad taste, when Gabriel nods and thus confirms what he has already feared. It's not a joke. He's actually serious.

“A proper kiss,” Gabriel specifies, either oblivious to Flip's indignation or not caring for it. “With teeth and tongue. I want to look like you were trying to devour me once we're done.”

Flip very nearly chokes on his tongue, only barely keeping the hysterical laughter bubbling up his throat under control.

“Why?” he manages.

Gabriel stares at him, one eyebrow arched.

“Because I want that creep to leave me alone once we get back to the party. What better way to make sure of that than with a few hickeys and kiss-bruised lips?”

“That's bullshit and you know it," Flip huffs, crossing his arms over his wide chest.

Gabriel shrugs, seemingly unbothered by Flip's accusation.

“Maybe. Maybe not. What choice do you have?”

Flip doesn't answer, simply glares at the other man, sorely tempted to stuff his big mouth with one of the silken pillows, chain him to the bed and leave him here for the newly-weds to find.

For fuck's sake!

“You're a nasty piece of work, you know that?” he growls as he makes his way to Gabe on the bed in two wide strides.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, darling,” Gabriel giggles and lets himself fall back onto the mattress, forcing Flip to follow suit. 

He's bent over him, ready to get it over and done with, when Gabriel puts a bejeweled hand on his chest and keeps him from coming any closer.

“No shoes in bed,” Gabriel admonishes him.

Flip is going to murder him.

“Fine,” he snaps and gets up again, kicking off his shoes without finesse.

"I really don't get how you Americans can do that,” Gabriel tells him in a conversational tone, while he's fighting with the laces of his one remaining Oxford. “Shoes on the bed, I mean. It's uncomfortable, you get dirt on the sheets and you have to launder them pretty much every time you get in and out of bed.”

“We're barbarians and savages, what can I say,” Flip mumbles in reply.

“Some of you are,” Gabriel agrees without missing a beat. "But you I find quite charming."

He winks, quite obviously not in possession of a single ounce of shame, and Flip can feel the tips of his ears grow hot.

“Lucky me,” he grumbles as he rejoins Gabriel on the bed, feeling terribly naked even though he has only taken his shoes off.

“Lucky you indeed,” Gabriel agrees, fluttering his lashes. “Kissing me is a privilege.”

This time, Flip doesn't bother to resist the urge to rolls his eyes.

“Whatever,” he huffs and closes the distance between them.

Gabriel's lips are soft, surprisingly so and they are sweet with a last faint remainder of chewing gum. Flip had expected tobacco and cheap whiskey. It's bearable. No, it's more than that. Gabriel knows how to kiss and unlike Flip, he has no qualms about making a show of it. He deepens the kiss with an impatient little sigh, the tip of his tongue licking into the corner of Flip's mouth.

Flip pulls away with a startled huff.

“What the--”

He doesn't get further than that. Gabriel is on him again, his fine-boned fingers twisting in the front of Flip's shirt.

“Hey, we're not done here yet. Tongue and teeth and all, remember?” he sing-songs, lips shining wet with Flip's spit.

It's indecent, downright depraved and it has Flip's dick twitching in his pants.

“Fuck,” he grumbles under his breath, appalled by his body's betrayal.

He's in the middle of an undercover investigation, a police detective among the worst of the worst of New York City's seedy underbelly. Not the most convenient time for his body to remind him that it has been months since he last shared a bed with somebody.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves here,” Gabriel's melodious voice interrupts his internal self-loathing. “Though I wouldn't be averse to it.”

Flip blinks, struggling to catch up with Gabriel and decipher the meaning behind his words. When it finally dawns on him (far too late; and he calls himself a detective?) he almost chokes on his own saliva.

“A kiss was what we’ve agreed on,” he reminds Gabriel.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Gabriel nods, his grip on Flip's shirt unrelenting. “But a proper kiss. If I wanted a simple peck on the mouth I'd go and ask grandma.”

Flip has worked as an undercover cop and a detective for too long to fall for such an obvious taunt.

“I could go and ask the mother of the bride if you'd rather kiss her,” he says, immeasurably pleased when Gabriel scrunches up his nose at the suggestion. “That's what I thought.”

He doesn't wait for Gabriel to run his to-smart mouth again. This time, when their lips meet in a bruising kiss, he's the one to dominate it.

Gabriel takes it beautifully. For all his previous attitude, he doesn't fight when Flip presses him back into the bed, doesn't protest when, against his own better judgement, Flip gives into the urge and pulls Gabriel's plush lower lip between his teeth. Nor does Gabriel waste any time with feigned demureness when Flip licks at the seams of his lips, wordlessly asking him to open his mouth.

By the time Flip breaks their kiss, reluctantly—and isn't that something better to be left for another day to ponder?—Gabriel is flushed, the freckles smeared over the bridge of his nose suddenly all the more pronounced.

“Impressive,” he breathes, staring up at Flip with something akin to awe glimmering in his eyes.

There's no mockery to those words, no biting undertone, and for the first time since Flip has made Gabriel's unfortunate acquaintance, he feels like the other man is utterly sincere.

“Can I get another?”

Flip scoffs at the mere idea, but he doesn't climb off the bed either, doesn't tell Gabriel to get lost. He's got what he wanted from Flip: his lips are a flushed pink, his whole mouth shining wet with spit, the curve of it swollen where Flip has buried his teeth in the delicate flesh. Anybody who'd care enough to look at Gabriel now would see these marks and recognize them for what they are.

“We had a deal,” Flip reminds Gabriel. “A kiss in exchange for the names of the men who've bought Fitzpatrick with their money.”

Gabriel, who, so far, has squirmed and twisted underneath him, trying and failing to create more friction between them, stills, and Flip's hopes quickly fade away.

He's not going to uphold his end of the bargain. He's not going tell Flip anything. He's going to shove him off, rat him out to ever single mobster attending this wedding. He's going to--

“John O'Brien, Brendan Mahoney, and Brian Kelly,”

Flip's initial disappointment morphs into anger, then confusion and he's halfway through asking what the hell Gabriel' is talking about when it dawns on him: the names. He's giving him all the names of those who have bribed Fitzpatrick.

“Mick McDermott, Michael Malone, Franky Curren. Should I go on or have I earned that second kiss already?”

Flip hopes that on the other end of the line, Ron isn't too busy laughing at Flip's misfortune and has the good sense to write all these names down.

“What else?” he asks Gabe, voice raspy from excitement and the lingering memory of their first kiss.

Gabriel's mouth pulls into a pout, his cheeks puffing up a little. “What else? Wasn't that enough for you? You pigs are always so greedy.”

Flip opts not to ponder the implications of that statement. There are more important matters requiring his attention than Gabriel's apparent predilection for men of the law. And so he silences him with that second, much demanded kiss, more delighted than he should be when Gabriel squeaks in surprise.

He tastes just as good as the first time, perhaps even better, now that the last traces of champagne clinging to his lips have faded, leaving no taste but Gabriel himself.

There are hands roaming Flip's chest and moving higher to pluck at his tie until the complicated knot comes undone. Gabriel pulls it off without ever breaking their kiss.

“That wasn't part of the deal,” Flip whispers into Gabriel's ear when the lack of oxygen has become impossible to ignore and they have to break apart.

Gabriel has the tie wrapped around his wrist like an bracelet, the burgundy color of it standing out against his pale skin.

“We could make it part of the deal,” Gabriel offers, radiating mischief and desire in equal measure. His hands are on Flip still, having moved up to his neck, where he's curling Flip's thick hairs around his finger. His thighs are pressing into Flip's sides.

“What are you doing?” Flip hisses when Gabriel writhes, rubbing up against him. Though Flip doesn't pull away from Gabriel's warmth, his own body quick to react to the unexpected stimulus.

“Trying to get you to fuck me,” Gabriel tells him bluntly.

“What makes you think I'd sleep with you?” Flip shoots back, still bent over Gabriel, his long hair falling around them like a black shroud.

“Oh, I don't know,” Gabriel purrs, his own hair spilling over the pillows and surrounding him like a burning halo. “The massive boner in your trousers perhaps?”

Flip glares at him, never once looking down. There’s no denying it: he's hard, but he's not going to give Gabriel the satisfaction of acknowledging it by glancing down at his misbehaving genitals like a nervous schoolboy.

“Just because I'm hard doesn't mean I want to sleep with you,” he argues, internally congratulating himself on managing to sound so calm still.

“You could though,” Gabriel says, not in the slightest bit deterred by Flip's blunt rejection. “I could even throw in a few more names to sweeten the deal.”

The small microphone tapped to Flip's shirt feels unnaturally heavy; Ron's voice ringing in his head to not do something stupid, to not fall for what must be an obvious trap.

“You’re awfully keen on betraying your people,” Flip says at last.

“I’m also awfully keen on getting your cock inside me,” Gabriel argues. “Must be a damn fine cock, judging from this.” He rolls his hips upwards and brings their clothed erections back together to make his point.

“Very flattering,” Flip gasps, a moan stuck in the back of his throat. “But there’s more to it, isn’t it? Something you’re not telling me.”

Gabriel stills, his storm grey eyes darkening to an almost black, and the artificial sweetness on his handsome face melts away into something sharper, more viscous.

“They’re not my people,” he spats out, showing a row of white teeth and unnaturally sharp canines. “And I owe them no loyalty.”

Flip doesn’t prod. He knows a hornet’s nest when he sees one, ever since falling into one at the tender age of ten, and he has no desire to stir one up again, figuratively or literally. He does, however, store this tidbit of information away for later. A mobster with an aversion to his own might be useful one day.

He regards Gabriel a while longer, contemplating him silently when something in Gabriel’s expression shifts. If Flip didn’t know any better, he’d say he looks like a child who’s been caught lying. The moment of embarrassment doesn’t last long, however, and the sharp edges around Gabriel’s face soften to a cocky smile again quickly enough.

He flutters his lashes at Flip, all of his anger forgotten.

“And because I'd die for some proper cock and I don't care if these arseholes are going to spend the next few years behind bars if that means I'll get it,” he says, sugary sweet and leans up to kiss Flip.

His lips are just as soft as the first time, his tongue just as curious. He doesn't pull away when Flip, in his utter surprise, bites down on it. On the contrary, he laughs into the kiss and presses closer so that their hard cocks are rubbing against each other.

It's madness, the small voice inside his head whispers to Flip, just as he pushes a hand in between Gabriel's slender thighs and forces him to spread them wide. Gabriel does without protest, though not without a breathy chuckle that quickly dissolves into a moan when Flip covers the obvious bulge in his pants with one hand.

“God, your hands,” Gabriel breathes, shameless and full of awe. “Can't wait to get your fingers inside me.”

“You talk too much,” Flip tells him between another kiss that leaves him with more bitemarks and the taste of sweet blood in his mouth.

“Oh?” Gabriel intones, amusement reverberating in his voice. “So you don't want to hear me talk about how much I want your huge cock inside my tight ass?”

Flip huffs, tips of his ears going red, and pulls off his checkered shirt, revealing the hidden wire underneath, carefully taped to his undershirt.

“You into others listening in on you having sex or are you going to take that off?” Gabriel asks.

Taking off the wire would be a terrible idea. If anything were to happen to Flip, if Gabriel tried to kill him now, if his proposal was nothing but an elaborate ruse (more or less) to leave Flip without any defenses, then Ron would never know. He shouldn't take the wire off.

The undershirt hits the floor with a dull thud, the wire and microphone landing in an undignified heap on top of it.

“Oh my. You're certainly taking care of yourself,” Gabriel croons upon the sight of Flip's naked torso, his eyes roaming over every inch of revealed skin. Does he ever shut up?

“Take off your shirt,” Flip tells him, half tempted to fashion a gag out of some pillow cases and thus earn himself some quiet.

“Bossy, too,” Gabriel comments, oblivious to how close he is to being deprived of the ability to speak. “I like that.”

Nonetheless, he takes off his shirt without kicking up more of a fuss. When he shucks it aside, Flip finds himself stunned into silence.

Gabriel isn’t particularly muscular. On the contrary,  his slender build is even more pronounced in juxtaposition to Flip, yet still soft around the edges, with hips a little wider than one would expect on a man. He's pale, his milky white skin dotted with a few freckles that stretch over the expense of his shoulders and the curve of his collarbones. In some unexpected twist, nature has deemed it fitting to give him nipples as rosy and pink as his lips. They too are small, tiny even, and Flip catches himself wanting to close his mouth around each and suck on them until it makes Gabriel scream.

“Detective, you’re making me blush here, ogling me like a piece of meat,” he says, his pleased expression belying the feigned indignation.

“Flip, call me Flip.”

The ever-present smile on Gabriel's face morphs into something more tender and he pulls Flip down with one hand behind his neck.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Flip,” he whispers. “How about you take the rest of this off and we get to know each other a little better?”

Who is Flip to deny him?

He takes off Gabriel's (obscenely tight) pants with as much patience as he can muster, revealing long, milky legs that he can imagine all too well wrapped around his middle. What it also reveals, is the fact that Gabriel has chosen to forgo underwear this morning.

Flip raises a brow in question, but only gets a careless shrug in return.

The hair between Gabriel's legs is as red as that on top of his head, perhaps a shade darker, and protruding from this wild nest of curls is a beautiful cock. A little on the slim side but long and with the foreskin pulled back to reveal a wet, glistening tip. Flip may not have been raised Jewish, but he was circumcised as a child and perhaps it’s for this reason that he can't help but be endlessly fascinated but the small expanse of extra skin around the crown of Gabriel's cock.

“You can touch it,” Gabriel chirps, quickly picking up on his fascination. “It doesn't bite, I promise.”

Flip huffs. “Smartass.”

Fed up with Gabriel and his barbed tongue, Flip wraps his fingers around his pretty cock. Gabriel releases a soft gasp, the sound so shockingly different from his usual rolling snark, and Flip's hand stutters to a surprised halt.

“More!” Gabriel demands, voice noticeably breathless but closer in pitch to the deep, rolling Brogue he has used before again.

Flip grunts, not particularly happy to be ordered around by a criminal such as Gabriel, but too aroused to deny the man underneath him. And so he grips Gabriel a little tighter and resumes his careful jerking movements, letting the entire length of Gabriel glide through the tight tunnel of his fist.

As it turns out, Gabriel is rather sensitive, writhing underneath Flip after only a few heartfelt tugs at his cock. His lovely face is flushed red, his generous mouth hanging open as moan after moan spills past his lips.

It's rare that Flip gets to see his partners like this. His usual sexual encounters are limited to secret back-alley encounters and the questionable anonymity of club house restrooms. Rarely does Flip have the luxury of a bed and generous lighting.

Gabriel is pretty when he's not laughing at him, unabashed, unashamed in his pleasure and, as it seems, trying his very hardest to let everybody in the vicinity know as much with how loud he's being.

Flip silences him with another kiss, while at the same time moving his free hand between Gabriel's spread legs. When he finds what he is looking for, brushing the tip of his finger against the tight furl of skin, it has Gabriel shivering underneath him. Flip breaks the kiss to catch his breath. His own cock is pressing painfully against the seam of his dress pants. Meanwhile, Gabriel has fallen silent. Apart from a few weak kitten-moans that tumble from his mouth whenever Flip moves the hand on his cock.

“Do you—” Flip bites down on the tip of his tongue, mortified by his own mortification. This isn't his first rodeo. He's had sex before. So why is he acting like a blushing virgin? He swallows thickly.  _ Get a grip, Zimmerman! _

“Do you have something to make this easier?” he asks, forcing himself to meet Gabriel's glassy stare.

“Huh?” Gabriel mumbles unintelligently, before realisation lights up his face. “In the back pocket of my trousers. Though I had hoped you'd eat my arse first, Flip darling.”

The pet name sends a shiver running down Flip's spine, and a spurt of precome stains the inside of his boxers.

“Eat your ass?” he echoes in disbelief.

For somebody who has been incoherent with pleasure only seconds before, it takes Gabriel remarkably little time to put two and two together. In another life, he would have made an excellent detective.

“So you've never done it before?” Gabriel asks, clearly not expecting an answer. “Selfish, Flip. Very selfish. And I wouldn't have pegged you for a selfish lover. Well, nothing to be done about it.”

He shifts on the bed, rolls onto his stomach and gets up on his knees so that Flip is forced to pull away from him and make some space. When Gabriel has properly settled again, he's on his hands and knees, his chest pressed into the mattress and his ass high up in the air. It allows Flip an excellent view of the curve of his ass, peachy pink and with a single, perfectly round mole on the left cheek. Gabriel's ass cheeks are so small, Flip has no doubts that they would easily fit into his palms, if only he had the courage to touch them. Gabriel's balls are of a darker shade than the rest of him and covered in a fine fuzz of hair the same color as that on top of his head.

“Well?” Gabriel's voice cuts through Flip's muddled thoughts, a little distorted, as if coming from somewhere far away, with the way he has half of his face pressed into the pillow underneath him. Gabriel wriggles his ass a little, almost causing Flip to come into his pants right then and there.

“Don't just stare at it. Eat it!” Gabriel huffs.

Flip glares at him, or better, at his ass, but he doesn't argue. Tentatively, he puts a hand on each of Gabriel's asscheeks, marveling at how perfectly they fit into his palms, just as suspected. He pulls them apart as carefully as he can, an anticipation burning in the pit of his stomach that makes his fingers twitch.

Gabriel may be a criminal, but fuck if Flip does not take care of his partners. He's not never hurt a lover and he's not going to start now.

“God, you're a sweet one, aren't you?” Gabriel mumbles in a tone that makes Flip wonder whether it’s meant as a compliment or an insult. He decides not to comment on it, too preoccupied with Gabriel's asshole to come up with an appropriately witty remark anyway.

Flip's first tentative lick is rewarded with something best described as a purr, something deep and primal, dripping with satisfaction and relief.

“Yes,” Gabriel moans and pushes his hips up higher. “Just like that, Philip. No need to be shy.”

Flip is not the kind to be easily flustered, but the way Gabriel says his name, it feels special, like he's something precious, something worth keeping and he can feel the tips of his ears grow hot. And so he buries his face in Gabriel's ass, tongue licking over the rim of his hole. The taste of Gabriel—a little heady, a little sweet—has him moaning.

“You like that?” Gabriel's strained voice cuts through the noise of Flip’s own heavy breathing. “Eating my tight arse?”

Flip growls and licks a long stripe all the way from the hang of Gabriel's balls up to his shining wet asshole. It's sloppy work, messy, and Flip knows that his technique leaves much to be desired, but Gabriel doesn't complain. He pants and moans, shivering at every little touch, rewarding Flip's efforts with encouraging whispers of his name.

“Inside,” he whines. “Put your tongue inside me already.”

The first push is hesitant and Flip's tongue barely makes it past the tight ring of muscle.

“I won't break in half if you put your tongue inside me, you know,” Gabriel says, voice hoarse with desire and impatience.

Pride awakened, Flip tries once more. This time around, he's more successful, finally breaching Gabriel when he applies just that bit more force. Gabriel's insides are hot and Flip can't help but push even deeper, until he can move no further and the tip of his nose is pressed against the sweaty patch of skin between Gabriel's ass cheeks. The taste of him is more pronounced here, not unpleasant, but overwhelming in a way that has Flip's head spinning.

“Fuck,” Gabriel curses under his breath when Flip is so bold as to spread his cheeks further, to make more space for himself. “Got a taste for it now, don't you?” he teases, the effect somewhat diminished when another thrust of Flip's tongue has him moaning so loudly it echoes off the walls of the entire suite. “I bet eating my ass has you leaking in your pants, bet you want nothing more than to get your dick out and fuck me with it. Get that fat thing all the way inside me.”

Flips stops dead in his tracks, staring at his messy work with one contemplative eyebrow raised. Gabriel's asshole, rosy and wet with spit, is contracting around nothing. It's true. Flip does want to fuck him, bury himself in the velvet heat that he was already so fortunate to have tasted with his tongue. He wants to pound every last ounce of smugness out of Gabriel, fuck him until there's not a single thought left in his head that isn't Flip, until he is nothing but a babbling mess, with Flip's spend running down his thighs.

“Maybe,” Flip admits, his breath ghosting over Gabriel's skin. “But so do you.”

Gabriel freezes underneath him, motionless for a terrifying long heartbeat, before he explodes into a whirlwind of action. He rolls onto his back, taking Flip with him as he grabs him by his belt.

“Then what are you waiting for?” he snaps, mouth pulled into a vicious snarl and his hands fumbling with Flip's belt buckle. Considering how hard Flip is in his pants, he's only too happy to help. The belt comes undone with a gentle click and Gabriel wastes no time to rid Flip of his pants and underwear.

When Flip's cock springs free, the whole length of it an angry red, Gabriel lets out a sound so close to a sob, Flip fears he has somehow offended him with that circumsized dick of his. 

His concerns prove unfounded.

“Fucking hell, this must be the single most beautiful cock I've ever seen,” Gabriel blurts out, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in Flip's equipment.

“Uhm...thanks?” How else is he supposed to react to a compliment like that?

“Just stating facts here,” Gabriel says and spreads his legs wider, a hand underneath each knee to support himself on the bed. “Vaseline is in my trousers, in the back pocket.”

Gabriel’s tone of voice leaves no room for an argument, and so Flip slides off the bed, kicking off his underwear and pants that have pooled ungracefully around his ankles, off and makes a beeline for Gabriel's discarded pants. The little jar of vaseline is already half empty when he opens it, but it should be enough. Hopefully. He doesn't take the time to reflect on this sudden eagerness to get his cock inside Gabriel. No doubt the self-loathing will settle in soon enough.

He's barely sat down on the bed—cock bobbing between his legs—when Gabriel snatches the vaseline out of his hand and coats his fingers with a generous amount of the slippery substance. As he pushes two of his fingers inside his hole, he doesn't so much as blink.

“Next time,” Gabriel pants while he works himself open, moving his fingers in and out of himself in a punishing rhythm, “I will have you fuck me with those obscene fingers of yours.”

Flip doesn't have it in him to point out that there likely won't be a next time.

With a wet, squelching sound, Gabriel pulls his fingers free soon after and beckons Flip closer with a wave of his hand—the same hand he has used to prepare himself.

All caution thrown to the winds, Flip follows his call and settled between Gabriel's legs. Up close, it's easy to see how worked up he is, how caught up in the throes of passion and the overwhelming need to come. Even like this, sweaty, red-faced, panting open-mouthed like an animal, Gabriel is nothing short of beautiful. Flip wants to kiss him again.

“Come on,” Gabriel urges him and shifts forward on the smooth sheets, causing the tip of Flip's dick to catch on his rim. “Fuck me already.”

Flip doesn’t need to be told a second time. He breaches him in a thrust so powerful, it has Gabriel screaming and his hole clenching so tightly around Flip, he has to summon every last ounce of willpower to not tumble over the edge then and there.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Gabriel chants, his chest heaving. “Feels like I'm popping my cherry all over again.”

It's meant as a joke, but Flip can feel the tension in Gabriel's body, the way his thighs have clamped around his middle, and see how tightly his fingers are gripping the bed linens.

“Easy there,” Flip whispers. He leans, pressing butterfly kisses to his forehead and the corners of his mouth. “We can take it slow.”

Gabriel relaxes gradually, bit by bit, while his mouth seeks out Flip's for more kisses.

“You can move,” he tells Flip after some time, in the same flippant tone he has used before, though he can't hide the gratitude shining in the depths of his seagreen eyes.

Flip smiles down at him, amused, if nothing else, by Gabriel's stubbornness.

This time around, he sets a slower pace and moves his hips only in careful undulations that drive his cock deeper into Gabriel without overwhelming him. When he can go no deeper, Flip pauses, allowing Gabriel to catch his breath and get used to the unnatural stretch.

They look at each other, wide-eyed and a little awed, and just when the absurdity of the whole situation is threatening to overwhelm Flip, Gabriel starts to giggle. It's not one of his malicious chuckles at Flip's expense, not the cruel laughter that sends a shiver running down Flip's spine. It's sweet, the carefree delight of the innocent and pure, all of which Gabriel is not.

Flip blinks slowly, astonished.

“They tickle,” Gabriel explains in between hiccuping laughter. “Your pubes.”

A flush spreads on Flip's cheeks.

“Oh,” he whispers, caught between mortification and indignation. It has been a while since he last shared a bed with anybody. So it’s entirely possible he may have neglected his own grooming for a while, without anybody he needed to impress.

“No need to make such a long face,” Gabriel assures him, the name rolling off his tongue like a lover's caress. He wriggles his hips, chuckling again when the unruly mess of hair between Flip's legs brushes over the curve of his ass.

“It's cute,” he tells Flip and pulls him down for a kiss. “Now move.”

It's difficult to waste any more thoughts on his poor grooming habits with Gabriel shifting underneath him, the wet heat of his gripping Flip tightly. His slow, rolling thrust quickly grow more desperate, unrestrained, until he's fucking into Gabriel in earnest, spurred on by the man's gasps and moans. Flip knows he's not going to last.

Gabriel is just too tight, too eager, too responsive, too perfect. The way he whimpers at every thrust; how his chests flushes red, his small nipples stiff and a delectable pink.

No, Flip is not going to last.

"Beautiful," he groans as he grabs Gabriel by his skinny hips.

Gabriel's eyes go wide and the blush on his cheeks deepens. Sudden wetness spreads between their heated bodies and sticks to Flip's chest. His hips stutter to a halt and he lowers his gaze to stare at the streaks of come painting both their bellies.

"Don't stop," Gabriel demands in a breathy whisper, voice pitched high. "Fuck me through it. Come on!"

“You'll be sore tomorrow,” Flip warns him, but Gabriel only laughs.

“Worried I won't be able to conduct my usual, illegal business, detective?” he snorts.

Flip tilts his head, pondering Gabriel’s words and then shrugs.  “Fair enough.”

He moves his hands from Gabriel's hips down to the backs of his thighs, seized by a grim satisfaction when his fingers leave red marks on Gabriel's sensitive skin. He pushes him forward, almost bending him in half and fucks into him again. Flip doesn't slow down when Gabriel starts whimpering, doesn't lessen the force of his thrusts, not even when Gabriel winds his arms around Flip and rakes his nails down his back.

When Flip comes, caught up in a whirlwind of pleasure and pain, he does so with a growl. Snapping his hips forward one last time, with such force he can hear the slap of skin against skin even over the noise of their combined breathing.

“Fuck,” Gabriel whispers as he's filled up with come and, just this once, Flip is inclined to agree.

He slumps forward, into the bed and on top of Gabriel, too exhausted to show some common decency and pull out of him first. It doesn't take long until his cock has softened enough so that it slips out of Gabriel's stretched hole on its own, followed by his come that runs down Gabriel's thighs in glistening rivulets before it dries on his skin.

Flip rolls onto his back, all four limbs stretched out and shaking, and stares at the ceiling. He should get up, he knows. Should wash away the evidence of their coupling and demand Gabriel  hold up his end of the bargain and give him more names, more information. He should get dressed and make his way down to the wedding party before his disappearance raises any suspicion and people start looking for him.

“Shut up,” Gabriel's satisfied purr rings in Flip's ears, surprisingly close and when he turns his head, he's met with the still flushed visage of his unexpected lover. “You're thinking so loudly, I can practically hear the cogs turning in your head. You can regret every single one of your life choices once we've both had some sleep and a shower.”

He doesn't ask for permission before he shifts closer and presses his come-crusted belly against Flip's side, throwing one arm over Flip's wide chest and resting his head beneath his chin.

His hair smells like smoke and soap, and it tickles Flip's skin a little, although he doesn't complain. He's tired too and Gabriel is warm and his body soft against his.

 

* * *

 

Flip wakes with a start and reaches for his gun on the nightstand, only to realise that he's not in his bed and home and his gun isn't where it should be.

Taking in his surroundings, the realization hits Flip quickly enough. The undercover assignment. Gabriel. Their deal. The space next to him on the bed is empty, the sheets cold. Gabriel has left a while ago already, leaving him for the bride and groom to find. Flip is lucky nobody has come up yet and caught him fast asleep in the happy couple's bed.

He’s an idiot and he’s angry, mostly at himself for being so naive as to believe a criminal like Gabriel would keep his word. He’s angry at himself for being so pathetically lonely, the promise of a few minutes of bliss in another’s arms made him forget all about his duties; angry that he’d risk his career for a pair of pretty eyes and sweet nothings whispered into his ear.

He gets up, wincing a little when the dried come pulls on his skin, and picks up his discarded clothes. Only when he pulls his shirt back on and straightens it in the front, does he realise that both his watch and his cufflinks are missing.

 

* * *

Walking into the police department at one in the morning, with his hair in disarray and his tie missing must constitute as the mother of all walks of shame.

Nobody dares to talk to him; nobody so much as looks at him. Everybody is too busy clicking away at their typewriters or reading over their reports to pay him any mind. Everybody but Ron, who is waiting for him in front of the chief's office, arms crossed over his chest.

“What the fuck, Flip?” he greets him in a strained whispers, once he’s within earshot. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? You absolute fool!”

He deserved that one. Worse, actually. He has knowingly jeopardized a major investigation by fornicating with the enemy. It sounds ridiculous, but he’s in deep shit. No, more than that. He’s drowning in it. He’s lucky if he’ll only get demoted and given uniformed officer duty for the rest of his life.

“Chief waiting for me?” Flip asks, in no mood to discuss his idiocy with Ron.

His partner and friend huffs, clearly eager to give him another piece of his mind, but too much of a friend to go through with it.

“Get in there already,” Ron grumbles and steps aside, shaking his head in exasperation as he slides past Flip and makes his way back to his working desk.

Flip looks after him, already mourning the investigations they will never partner up for now, before he straightens up, knocks at his superior’s door and steps inside.

When he sets foot inside the cramped office—there’s barely enough space for a desk and two black swivel chairs—the chief of police lifts his head and greets him with a wide smile.

“Ah, Zimmerman, just the man we were waiting for. Stallworth has already reported to me. Well done.”

_ Well done? _ Flip almost swallows his own tongue in an effort not to let out an embarrassing squeak. He clears his throat to stall for time, hoping for an explanation from the chief that doesn't come.

“I think there has been a misunderstanding, sir. I--”

The chief cuts him off with an impatient wave of his hand.

“We can discuss the details at a later point. First of all, congratulations. With a man on the inside, it will only be a matter of time until we have Fitzpatrick behind bars.”

_ What the hell is going on? _

“A man on the inside?” Flip stutters, confusion marring his face. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

His boss looks at him, one eyebrow raised, his expression shifting between irritation and exasperation, and points at the second swivel chair on the other side of his desk. Flip stares, eyes glued to the shiny backside of it, when it turns with an unpleasant screech and, sunken into the plush leather, sits Gabriel.

“Hello, detective,” he purrs, mouth pulled into a Cheshire smile. “I think I owe you some more names.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much [Callmelyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmelyss/profile) for editing this fic for me! You're the best!
> 
> A huge thank you also to [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for always coming up with the best headcanons and for being such a supportive friend! And thank you [Jeusus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeusus/profile) for coming up with this delightful ship!
> 
> Thank you so much for giving this a read! Please feel free to scream at me in the comment section!


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